


Forgiveness

by Severina



Category: Oz (1997)
Genre: Community: hardtime100, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-20
Updated: 2009-10-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 16:51:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toby does want to be forgiven. He just didn't realize that he actually wanted to forgive, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

> Season Three.  
> Prompt 01: Forgiveness (LJ's Hardtime100 community)  
> Cafeteria and computer room dialogue taken from Ep. 307 "Secret Identities"

_The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.  
\-- Ghandi_

Toby listens to Said's teachings. He studies the Koran with an intensity not seen since his law school days, when he'd spend hours bent over books in the library. He looks forward to his nightly debates with Said; puts up with the pain in his legs and tries to forget what that pain stems from when he prays each night; lays awake in the dark and contemplates all that he has done, all that he wants to do.

He tells himself that everything is working -- that he _is_ getting closer to God -- and pretends he doesn't know that he's fooling himself.

Said says, "The guilt you carry can only be lightened by forgiveness."

Toby does want to be forgiven. He does.

Said says, "So you must forgive. Schillinger _and_ Keller."

And Toby's first response -- only response -- is "I can't."

Watching Keller walk away in the cafeteria -- rejecting him again and again and again -- that is power. All the power Toby has in this place. It's not like the anger that burned in him when he first got out of the hospital, that blanket that kept him warm at night when his joints ached and slowly healed. But it's enough.

"You must," Said says.

Toby wants forgiveness, but not at this expense. So he lobs the challenge back, volleys it right into Said's court. And watches Said's jaw clench just looking at Hamid Khan.

He should have known it would backfire on him.

Watching Said strip off his shirt and prostrate himself before his God awakens something in Toby. But his awe is mixed with envy at the passion of Said's convictions. Forgiving Khan and in return asking forgiveness makes Said strong. Toby is tired of feeling weak and small. Toby wants that strength.

And maybe saying the words will make them real, make them true.

He finds Keller in the computer room. He says the words he needs to say. And with Keller's -- Chris's -- arms around him, Toby lets himself hold on, lets himself feel safe there again. Just for a moment.

When Chris responds, says "I love you", his voice soft and breathless and filled with wonder, Toby's heartbeat quickens and his palms sweat and he wants to close his eyes, breathe Chris in. He thinks forgiveness is Keller's arms around him and Keller's heat against his.

"I love you," Toby says back, and there's a measure of freedom in knowing that he can finally say those words too, let them loose from his chest where he's held them for so long. But when Chris demands more, when he fists his hand in Toby's shirt, Toby pushes him firmly away. He can reject those baser instincts. He is better than that. He can leave the computer room with his self-righteousness intact. Smug bastard.

* * *

Toby remembers being wheeled in to the hospital ward, the stab wound a white-hot poker in his side. His next memory is waking up to a more subdued pain, the pleasant buzz of painkillers and the less pleasant sight of Schillinger in the opposite bed.

He closes his eyes and remembers: knowing the shank was curled in Schillinger's fist. Swinging his cane. The slashing pain. A blur of white in his peripheral vision as he fell. And then -- strong arms cradling him, warm hands on his suddenly cold skin, soft voice murmuring his name.

He opens his eyes.

"Dr. Nathan," he calls out. She turns from jotting notes on a chart, eyes him expectantly, but he has trouble finding his voice. His throat convulses, but no words emerge.

Her brow creases in concern. "Are you in pain, Beecher? Your tolerance level may be higher because of your previous injuries. I can increase your dosage--"

Toby waves off her apprehension. "No," he says. "I just… uh… how's Keller?"

"Keller?" Dr. Nathan purses her lips. "I haven't seen him. Was he injured?"

"I… I guess not," Toby says. He eases back onto the pillows, ignores the taunts of Schillinger in the other bed. His memories of the aftermath of the fight are fuzzy, but two things are very clear: Keller jumped to his defence, risked his own life to save Toby's. And there was only love in his embrace.

Toby does want to be forgiven. He does.

He just didn't realize that he actually wanted to forgive, too.

He takes a breath and when he releases it, he lets everything else go. The anger, the fear, the pain. Rejection, heartache, betrayal, condescension, sanctimonious superiority. All the things he's held on to for so long, the things that make him weak, the things that he kept curled tight in his fist because without them, he'd have to face what he's known all along -- that despite everything, he still loves Chris Keller, still aches for him, still wants him, needs him.

"I forgive you," he thinks, and the relief is like a balm to old wounds and new.

The nurses clatter through the room, changing dressings and scolding recalcitrant patients. Someone at the end of the row screams in sudden pain. Schillinger rants.

Toby sleeps.


End file.
